HDR Photography
I’ve previously spotlighted the gorgeous shades and cinematic landscape of southern Brazil, but in this particular photograph I feel I’ve captured the truly epic feel of the place. Rocky islands dot the coastline and comic book clouds drift through the gold-and-pink hued sky. I can’t imagine anything more gorgeous.
Climbing Telegraph Hill on foot means stairs. Lots and lots of stairs.
Climbing Telegraph Hill by car means loops. Lots and lots of loops.
(Though I’m sure my memory is exaggerating.) On that winding road through the trees and stones, under the watchful eyes of the wild parrots, are occasional glimpses of the Golden Gate Bridge. With the last wisps of sunlight landing on the hill, the craggily texture of the tarmac and the rocks and trees contrast so perfectly the with the far-off Platonic idealism of that bridge.
There’s something about the lighting and the way it plays off the curved hand rail that reminds me of a dystopian future in one of Neal Stephenson’s novels or of disembarking from a futuristic space port.
Out for a hike on freshly fallen snow, it was a shame to see the day coming to an end. (And the views on that hike were spectacular.) Still, there’s something very satisfying to heading back home to the comfort of a roaring fire and a glass of hot chocolate. (It’s a cliché for a reason!)
As the last days of 2012 fell away, I went hiking with the family to Lion’s Head in northwestern Connecticut. We tromped through the recent snow, dodging bits of falling ice and hidden stones. On our way back from the the summit, we passed under the bent bow of this enormous birch. Though the forest is dormant, the tree is still very much alive. Its smooth, horizontal curve was in fascinating contrast with the stark verticality of the rest of the forest.
Sometimes, the most glorious visions are right around the corner. Great clouds and just the right light can be frustratingly rare in California, land of infinite sunshine, so I was utterly thrilled to capture this gorgeous post-sunset cloudscape and the attendant Friday-evening bustle from the Berkeleyites stuck down on Earth.
Last week, the grandeur and [somewhat ostentatious] glory of the Trinity College Chapel from afar was the subject. This picture comes from the wings of the same structure, but from a much smaller, quieter place. The same gracefully imposing style is painted in the hues of sodium lamps and setting sun.
This brook runs behind my childhood home; today, I present it to you as I remember it. Smooth currents of dark, freezing water (even in the summer), and the entrancing mishmash of old stones and roots encrusted with snow. No video game tops the pleasure of watching a leaf drift downstream.
OK, so not a real spaceship but it does sort of look like something out of an episode of Dr. Who, doesn’t it? I caught this one in downtown SF the other evening. The lighting on the building really caught my eye but only once I was directly underneath it. I captured this shot, which I think is very interesting to look at, and thought I’d share.
On the beaches of Florianopolis, the waves crashed on the broad black boulders and the sun dropped into the hills behind me. Not another person was evident, the water was impossible blue, and I said to myself, “If this isn’t nice, I don’t know what is.”
This little canyon ends at the beach, and its miniature stream flows back and forth with the tides. On this particular evening, it was starting to rain as the sun set through the clouds. The beach was abandoned, and whole scene felt post-apocalyptic.
Today’s photo, taken just as the rain started to pick up in the Marin Headlands, is one of my favorites. The alignment of this little bridge to the Golden Gate itself, the harbor, the construction equipment, with Angel Island and the rest of the North Bay off in the distance: it all provides a sense of scale and perspective. The way the warm sodium lamps contrast with the colors of the evening bring your eye to the bridge and its gorgeous structural steel. Rigid geometries contrast with the fuzzy plants of the hillside. This is a picture I want to crawl inside.
I had my own staging of Two-Lane Blacktop in central Oregon this weekend, with the company of this particularly lovely 911 Carrera 4S Cabriolet. This is grass seed country, and this particular weekend fell in the middle of the harvest. Long, perfectly maintained roads are intercut with forested hillsides and busy fields. By this point in the evening, however, nightfall brought calm with it.
For every sunny hilltop like the one above, there was a tree-lined valley. The setting sun really picks out the details of every treetop, but it’s a shame that Oregon has such a clean, healthy atmosphere. Without other molecules in the air to scatter the light, the sunsets lack the exciting colors of other parts of the country. This photograph captures the feeling of blasting down the road, wind in my hair, with only an occasional truck for company.
During my time as a student at Berkeley, I’ve had a chance to watch Blum hall begin as a foundation and grow to this glowing glass-and-wood holocron you see here. It’s a beautiful building, and its modern architecture fits surprisingly well with the older buildings around it. Still, I have to wonder: given how small its footprint is, I have to wonder what the cost-per-square-foot of the space inside was?
Enormous. But oh-so worth it for the slightly sinister luminescence on winter nights. (I particularly like the manner in which the street lamps ring the building like matadors trying to keep its stampeding bulk contained.)
Just around the corner from one of my favorite buildings, I found this spot where the curve of a footpath mirrors the curve of the passing road. The last moments of the day make for tiny beams of sunlight around my feet and tapping the tops of trees across the road. The start of summer is a perfect time in California.
Decaseconds 